Free The Fractal Prince by Hannu Rajaniemi

and bottle their souls.
    And then the Aun came to him in their glory. The Chimney Princess. The Kraken of Light. The Green Soldier. The Flower Prince.
    Tell us a true story or we will take your life, they said.
    But the boy only knew one true story.
    Before the Cry of Wrath rattled the Earth and Sobornost sank its claws into its soil, there lived a young man in the city of Sirr—
    Tawaddud looks away. How did the ancients deal with this? Ghosts in their heads, made by others, everywhere they looked, ready to possess them and to do their bidding. But in Sirr, the ghosts are real, and they hide themselves in stories.
    ‘I think I know this one,’ Tawaddud says. She puts on her glasses, summons her athar vision again, speaks the words the Axolotl taught her. And there, two entwined loops in the girl’s head, clearly visible.
    ‘Ahmad,’ she says harshly, looking at the girl. ‘Ahmad the Sickness.’ A filament of neurons lights up in the girl’s brain. Got you .
    ‘Ahmad, I know it’s you. Do you know who I am?’
    The girl snickers, suddenly, an odd, high-pitched sound. ‘Oh yes, baby, I know you, the Axolotl’s whore, long time, no see,’ she says, in a hissing voice.
    Next to her, Abu Nuwas draws a sharp breath. Damn it. Not now. So much for the plan at getting back at Duny, so much for seduction . Tawaddud shakes her head and bites down on the disappointment. Muhtasib plots or not, she has a patient to treat.
    ‘So you know what I can do?’ She lowers her voice. ‘I know Secret Names that will root you out. If I speak them, they will find you and eat you. Is that what you want?’
    ‘Mahmud, what is she saying?’ says the girl, suddenly. ‘Where am I? Don’t let her hurt me.’
    The acrobat takes a step forward, but Tawaddud holds up one hand. ‘Don’t listen to her, it’s a trick.’ She looks into the girl’s eyes. ‘Go away, Ahmad. Let this girl’s self-loop swallow you. Go back to the City, and I won’t tell the Repentants where your lair is. What do you say?’
    The girl tears herself from the acrobat’s grip and leaps up. ‘Bitch! I will eat your—’
    Tawaddud speaks the first syllables of the Thirty-Seventh Secret Name. The girl hesitates. Then she lays down on the mat on the floor. ‘You win,’ she says. ‘I’ll give your regards to the Axolotl. I hear he has a new squeeze.’
    Then the girl goes limp, closes her eyes and starts breathing steadily. Tawaddud watches her brain for a few moments to make sure that the thing called Ahmad is letting its self – sneaked into the poor girl’s mind through words and athar – dissolve into nothingness. The girl’s eyes start fluttering behind closed eyelids.
    ‘She is going to sleep for a day or two,’ Tawaddud tells Mahmud the acrobat. ‘Surround her with familiar things. When she wakes up, she should be fine.’
    She shoos away Mahmud’s excessive thanks, suddenly tired but triumphant. She looks at Abu and nods. See? That’s the other reason I come . She looks for signs of disgust or horror on the gogol merchant’s face, but sees only his brass eye, glittering with a strange hunger.
    The patients finally thin out by nightfall. Abu Nuwas buys two shawarma wraps from a street vendor, and they eat together, sitting cross-legged on the inflatable mattress inside the tent. Outside are the noises of Banu Sasan, the constant rattle of the soul trains, flashes and booms of the Station, the chill of the Sobornost buildings slowly eaten by wildcode.
    ‘You know, I don’t come back here very often,’ Abu says. ‘Perhaps I should. To remind myself how much there is to fix. How much wildcode there is.’
    ‘Without wildcode we would all be Sobornost slaves already.’
    Abu says nothing.
    Tawaddud cradles the hot wrap in her hands for warmth.
    ‘So, what do you think about the stories they tell about the girl from House Gomelez now?’ she asks. No point in pretending anymore .
    ‘What the body thief called you,’ Abu says. ‘Is it